Some people say that she was an actress.
Some people say she’s made of plastic.
Some people say that she’s boring.
Some people say that she’s drastic.
Some people say that she’s young.
Some people say that she’s old.
Some people say that she’s charming.
Some people say that she’s cold.
Some people say she’s evil.
Some people say she’s a vamp.
Some people say she’s a martyr.
Some people say she’s a tramp.
But in all truth it never matters what people say, because nobody knows the truth.
She’s a fan of lipstick, pantyhose, and vintage dress patterns. She’s a fan of high-heeled shoes, floral-patterned tablecloths, and Chanel. She doesn’t like poetry, romanticism or flowers. She doesn’t like children, rock and roll or the concept of happy hour. She wears what she wears, she wants what she wants and she drinks when and wherever she drinks. It’s obvious that she’s dabbled in some cosmetic surgery (it’s a fun game to imagine how many places she’s been nipped and tucked,) which must have been done before she ended up here – selling antiques to people who don’t matter. But there’s something charming about how she still chooses to wear ripped stockings.
Some people say she’s a hooker.
Some people say she fights crime.
Some people say she’s a writer.
Men always say she’s divine.
Aberdeen “Abbie” Angus is not her real name. If anyone knew her real name I’d be the first one to know, and trust me I haven’t heard anything.
There’s something mysterious about her. People are drawn to her, people want to know her. But who knows if it has anything to do with her or if it’s just people’s natural addiction to gossip.
Her driver’s license reads 5’ 8” and 120 pounds. Anyone who has ever seen Abbie knows that she hardly even touches 5’ 6” and that’s on a good day. A good day with four-inch heels. And 120 pounds is quite suspicious, considering each of her “natural,” bulbous jubblies must weigh at least 4 pounds each. Her birthday is the 9th of June, 1978 which would make her 31, in her dreams.
Some say that she had an amazing youth. Some say she had a wasted youth. Some say she laughed with Charlie Chaplin. Some say she danced with Fred Astaire. Some say she wrote with Orson Welles. Some say she drank with Marilyn Monroe. Some even said that she smoked with Janis and Jimi.
But to be honest, it never mattered what she did or what she wanted to be, it’s all about who she is.
She has medium length, somewhat frizzy, somewhat curly, brownish hair. Most days she wishes it was red or blonde. And most days she would rather wish than do. Some of that has to do with the one drink (or the next 3 or 4) she always has at 1 in the afternoon. But most of it has to do with her lack of determination in the life that she is living.
She always thought she’d die young, and it kills here everyday when she wakes up in the morning and sees her spreading wrinkles and realizes that she’s still alive.
